


And Foul Is Fair

by runandgo



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, M/M, there's a lot of shakespeare references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's... something there. Something that wasn't before. If I concentrate enough, I can feel it like static in my fingers."</p><p>"By the pricking of my thumbs... something wicked this way comes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here it is - my first chaptered fic ever! i'm so nervous about this. notoriously, i am kind of bad at finishing... well, anything, but i have a pretty solid outline for this one. i hope you all enjoy! i will try to update at least once a week. this chapter is mostly just exposition, but things start to happen next chapter - i promise!
> 
> as always, this has not been betaed or britpicked, so any mistakes are my own. i'm just borrowing simon, baz, and all other characters from rainbow rowell! comments make my day, so if you like it or have any questions, leave me a little note!

**BAZ**  


The bathroom in our new flat smells like blood.

Not enough to be alarming. And obviously dried up for a while, and scrubbed well from the tile. But I can still tell. I haven't eaten in almost a week, because it's remarkably hard to find time to go and hunt and kill animals when you're studying for end of terms and moving all at once. I've been tired, too, more tired than usual, and my magic is weak and erratic. We've had blood sausage for breakfast for the past three days, but I'm still about to tear my hair out. I reach up to run my fingers through it, but they meet only two inches of hair and skid down the back of my head. I'm still not used to the haircut. 

Simon is currently passed out on the couch, completely spread-eagled, mouth open. He's snoring. His new haircut almost matches mine, with that trendy, shorn-sides and mop-top combination. But his curls spill, tawny and lovely, over the sides, and every morning, I take the comb and divide my hair sharply on an angle so I can slick it like usual. We look like any normal twenty-somethings now. 

He turned twenty yesterday. Simon, I mean. We went out to eat at that Szechuan place down the block from his old flat. The little old ladies there adore me because I'm the only one who's willing to eat the strange meat dishes that everyone else avoids. (Largely because most have pig blood in them.) I order them extra-spicy, too - it brings color to my cheeks, apparently. My tongue doesn't burn too badly. 

Simon was well through half a plate of noodles when he glanced up at me, and impulsively laid his hand over mine on the table. As usual, the amount of blood remaining in my body rose mostly to my cheeks, and I fought off a smile, putting my hand in front of my mouth so no one could see my fangs. (As if they were watching us anyway.) 

"You look beautiful," he told me softly, the candlelight reflecting in his blue eyes, turning them dark and the color of wet slate. 

"I bet in this light I look almost human," I said quietly, then immediately regretted it. 

Simon's face changed instantly. His brows drew together and his chin jutted out in the way I used to find so obnoxious. _"Baz."_

"What?" I asked thickly around my fangs. The regret quickly morphed into stubbornness, and I dug my heels into the ground, resisting his pull. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it." He closed his hand around my wrist, and I shuddered and sighed. Damn it all - I'm always surrendering to him. He knows all my weaknesses. "And I wish you would take your hand down. No one's looking, Baz, and even if they were they wouldn't notice." 

"I hate my smile with these things," I mumbled, still a little garbled. "I look evil no matter what." 

"I like your smile," Simon countered, and the storm left his face, replaced with a brilliant smile. A hero's smile. Some things never change. "Really, really." 

We had too much wine, and it was sweet, syrupy stuff, stronger than the usual fare. Stumbling home was an effort. I vaguely remember trying to cast _**"Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose,"**_ but that only works if you're participating in a sporting event. Which clearly we weren't. So instead I looked in the spellbook my father had begrudgingly passed on to me as a graduation present for sobering spells. _**"Clean up your act"**_ finally did the trick. Apparently we were being mischievous. 

Snow still made a pot of strong black coffee, because he always does when he drinks. He can hold his liquor better than me, the twat, despite the fact that he'd barely had a drink before he turned 18. We sat on the sofa with our steaming mugs in the new, empty flat, watching the stars twinkle off and on in the sky. In a rare display of affection, obviously brought on by the alcohol and magic and warmth, I was sitting with my nose tucked into his chest, and his arm around me. (So warm. I'm always freezing, and Simon still runs hot, though not as much as when he had magic.) 

After some time, he spoke, and his voice was different - casting another kind of spell. "Did you get me a present?" 

I dislodged myself from his embrace and rolled my eyes, grinning despite myself and showing my eyeteeth. "Honestly, Snow. You can't let us have a bloody moment." 

"But I know you did!" He followed me across the room, reached for my waist and pulled me into him. "I saw it when you came home. Really pretty, Baz, really nice job," Simon mumbled to the back of my neck. 

"Do you want the present or not?" I grumbled, pulling away, still smiling. When I arrived at the flat, I'd placed it in the cabinet, then cast a quick _**"There's nothing to see here!"**_ to make it invisible. I reached up for it and shook off the charm, then handed it to Simon. He walked back to the sofa and sat down, then immediately removed the contents of the beautiful grey, blue-trimmed bag, setting the bag aside for safekeeping. He found himself holding a long, thin, oblong box with his initials inscribed in the lower corner in silver gilt. 

"Baz, was this expensive? _Please tell me this wasn't expensive._ I know your family is rich but you work at a Starbucks," Simon said doubtfully, examining the beautiful mahogany box. 

"Open it, you prat," I said in reply, for some reason nervous. "Happy birthday." 

Simon lifted the lid and gasped. Inside was a fountain pen, obviously beautifully and well made, glinting with silver and grey as dark as thunderclouds and hints of sapphire. Carefully, like he was holding something of glass, he picked it up and turned it slowly. "It's magickal," I said in a rush. "I charmed it so it never runs out of ink. And if you ever - if we were ever apart - you can write me from anywhere. Even if you don't know my address. Just write my name on the outside of the note and I'll get it. Or at least I'll know what it said." 

Simon was silent, and flipped over the note I had included, reading it slowly. I'd agonized for hours over what to write, then eventually picked simply "My heart is ever at your service. -Baz" Shakespeare - always a classic, for love notes and spells alike. I thought that would at least elicit some recognition, but he was still silent. Hot panic rose in my throat, and I cleared it, turning away. "If you don't like it, I can take it back-" 

"What? No!" That had finally shaken Simon out of his reverie, and he shook his head. "Baz. No. It's _perfect._ " He reached out again and caught my waist, and I half-fell with an "oof!" into his lap. " _You're_ perfect," he whispered, and my face turned pink - my version of a fiery red. 

"Hey." He nosed at the back of my head, and I shivered again, then turned around as gracefully as I could manage. Simon kisses like he talks, forceful but gentle. Welcoming. This is still new, somehow, even though it has been over a year since we started this - thing. Relationship. Lovely series of dreams in which, somehow, Simon Snow is interested in me. Half of me is still worried I'm going to wake up one morning and it'll be fifth year again, and I'll have to go back to pining over my idiot roommate instead of kissing him whenever the urge strikes. 

He scraped his teeth against my neck, and I damn near _whined_. "Merlin, Simon." I could feel him grinning next to my pulse, warm and alive. He worked the skin with his tongue, then _bit_ , hard. "Merlin and Morgan and Methuselah, _fuck,_ fuck," I swore, my breath catching in my throat right where he was still hanging on. "Simon, Jesus Christ. Fuck." 

Finally, he released my skin from between his teeth, satisfied. "Crowley, Baz. You've got a mouth on you." 

"Shut your bloody mouth, Snow," I fumed. Nevertheless, my fingers went to where his teeth where. The skin was raised and warm, although I doubted the mark would last. I had hardly any blood in my body. 

_Damn it all._ Hardly any blood in my body. "Simon, I haven't eaten in five days." 

"So?" he asked. He was kissing his way up my collarbone and back to my mouth. Insatiable, that one. "Why does it - OH. Oh." Simon sat back, trying not to be crestfallen. "So we can't -" 

"No," I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. "Unless you know somewhere we can find blood at 11:26 at night." 

"Fuck," he cursed. "Guess the butcher's closed. And there wasn't enough at dinner?" 

"No. I need to do it properly." 

"Merlin." Simon rubbed his face with his hands, half-laughing. "Awful to be a vampire. Even more so to date one." 

I climbed off his lap, berating myself. No way to ruin the mood like the reminder that your boyfriend is barely alive. Simon, meanwhile, padded to the kitchen and began to rummage around in the fridge. "Is there cake?" 

Oh, hell's bells. I'd forgotten the cake, too. "No." 

"Well, we can fix that." He came back over and extended a hand to me. I took it despite myself and stood up. "Come on, we'll go to Tesco." 

We ended up buying a shitty, fake-icing cake that had "Happy birthday, Simon" written in shaky blue print on top. How terribly common. Nevertheless, we ate it off paper plates on the floor - the sofa was the only thing moved so far into our new flat - and proceeded to get pissed for the second time that night. I shouldn't have wasted the magic on making us sober. The air mattress that Snow heroically attempted to blow up before I did with a quick _**"Fill up the tank!"**_ wasn't too uncomfortable, and we kissed until our mouths were numb. Until we were drunker from the kissing than the alcohol. 

"I wonder if it still counts as birthday sex if it's a few days later?" Snow mulled out loud. 

I giggled, weakly. "Go to sleep." 

"Love you, Baz." He wrapped his arm around my waist and kissed the back of my neck. My hair stood on end and I shivered. 

"Je t'aime, Simon," I replied without any magic. ( _ **"Je t'aime"**_ is a love spell, one of the most powerful there is. But you need incredible skill to perform it. I've never tried.) 

We fell asleep like that, twined together like serpents around a staff. Like vines on the side of a house. As usual, I woke up before him. Now I'm watching him sleep, drinking in the noises he makes and how he twists and turns. He's a lot more peaceful without his magic. 

I must nod off sitting on the floor, because when I open my eyes, Snow is waving his hand in front of my face. "Hey. Baz." 

"What? Stop that, you're making me dizzy." I stand up. _Oof._ Apparently the sobering spell does not prevent getting TWO hangovers the next morning. 

"You were looking like - you were looking peaceful. I didn't want to wake you up. But we should probably be unpacking soon." 

"Yeah..." I respond absently. I'm too busy staring at him to think. 

Simon sits up and runs a hand through his gorgeous hair. He yawns and his adam's apple bobs in his throat. _Merlin._ He has no idea how beautiful he is, how lucky I am. "We don't have any food... Do you want to go out? We can stop at the butcher on the way back." 

That butcher must think we just make a lot of sausage. Hopefully. "Fine." 

As much as I’d hate to admit it, I like… this. Him. Being able to walk down the street hand in hand without worrying about anyone looking. Or worrying about a dragon attacking, or the Humdrum, or any one of those things that seemed so hard to ignore just a year ago. We're almost a Normal couple to outside eyes. 

The key word being almost. Snow still says I dress too posh to be like a normal bloke on the street, but he doesn't go to uni with me. Practically everyone dresses there. My Spencer Hart suit was run-of-the-bloody-mill at the function our professors gave for end-of-term. 

Anyway, no designer suits for me today. Just a pair of well-tailored grey slacks that I charmed to have a permanent crease and a white shirt with a blue check that looks almost like graph paper. White brings out the faint vestiges of any Egyptian heritage still visible after I was Turned, so I wear it as often as possible. My tie is skinny and scarlet. Meanwhile, Snow woke up and threw on yesterday's jeans and a light navy t-shirt and still looks like a fucking movie star. His eyes are clear with the rest he got, and the color of his shirt turns them deep and warm. If he's as hungover as I am, you'd never guess it. 

We stop off at the corner not-Starbucks coffee shop for some overpriced cappuccinos (Snow adds three sugars to his, but I only take cinnamon and cocoa) and reheated breakfast sandwiches. I'm getting fidgety knowing that I'll finally get to feed as soon as we can make it to the butchers, and my leg jumps under the table. Snow puts his hand on it, casually, and I stop with a conscious effort. 

Our breakfast passes uneventfully as usual. Snow and I hold hands quietly. He's reading the course catalogue for next term at the uni he's been periodically attending. At one point, an older woman comes up to us and gushes about how "brave" we are, and I curl my lip and give her a look of disdain until she slinks away. "Merlin, Baz." Snow laughs lowly. "I forgot about that look.” 

“Bet you don’t miss being on the other side of it.” 

“Well, maybe she’ll fall in love with you, too,” he smiles, turning the page. 

All I can manage is a small, derisive laugh. I finished my breakfast ages ago, but Snow is a slow eater. Normally, I would be annoyed by being made to wait, but it doesn’t bother me when it’s him. The privilege of being able to watch him, of being able to share space, makes it bearable. 

But then again, I haven’t properly eaten in going on a week now, and I’m going insane. And the coffee shop is filled with bags of blood in expensive suits. 

For some reason, it feels like... more than just hunger. My magic feels charged, nervous but crazy, like you felt as a kid on Christmas Eve. If I feed, I'm sure I'll feel better. That's the only explanation that makes sense. 

Like he can read my fucking mind, Snow looks up. “You don’t have to wait for me, you can go on to the butcher if you want. I know I’m slow-” 

As soon as he gets out the first sentence, I’m standing up. “See you at the flat,” I rush, exiting the coffee shop at practically a gallop. 

The butcher's is grimy, but I've never been sick from his meat before, and he's fine by the board of health - I checked. Thank magic I have enough on me to buy a quart of pig's blood (and one for the freezer). I drink greedier than I have since practically fifth year, fall on my knees in the sitting room of our flat and finally feel full. After that, I sleep, with no dreams or interruptions. Just blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second chapter!! sticking to my schedule so far!!
> 
> thank you all for your subscriptions, comments, and kudos! they really mean so much ❤️ hope you enjoy chapter 2!
> 
> edit re: gates - i like to think that penny convinced her mom to try and change the wards so that simon could enter, which is why he asks about them here!

**BAZ**

When I wake up, someone's taken my shoes off. There's rustling in the kitchen. I roll over and see Snow putting away groceries in the newly-arrived fridge. "What time is it?" I ask, yawning and sitting up.

"About two," he answers absently. I take the time to admire the slice of his back that shows when his shirt rides up as he stretches to put rice on top of the fridge. "I didn't want to wake you up," Simon continues, finishing what he was doing and padding over to me. "You were sleeping like the dead" - I flinch unconsciously, reminded of the numpties - "and you haven't slept that well in weeks." 

"I haven't fed properly in weeks." The air mattress complains as Simon sits next to me. "But I feel good now." 

"Yeah?" He sticks his nose in the crook of my neck. This is ridiculous, I think, but I love it anyway. I love him. 

We pass most of the afternoon just sitting on the mattress, watching Netflix on Simon's computer and kissing. The furniture gets to the flat a while later, and Simon insists on carrying it up despite the fact that I have enhanced strength. "It's emasculating," he argues. Tonight I'll have to spell him so he's not sore. And I remember, a year ago, when he tried to make me move him and Bunce into their flat. He's changed. That magickal psychologist knows what she's doing. 

I've Skyped her a few times - Bunce gave me her address, though I made her swear not to tell on pain of death. She talks to me, mostly about the numpties, and my parents, and the vampirism. And she doesn't tell me I should turn myself in and get my fangs pulled. It's nice; Snow is a fine boyfriend, great even, but he'll never understand what it's like. 

Once our sitting room is full of boxes, we sit down and order takeaway. There's a pizza place down the block, and I didn't feel like paying for delivery, so I slip out to go get it. Our neighborhood is decent, I suppose. Not that many murders. Plenty of cute shops and the like, if that's what attracts you to a place. 

I'm walking by a card shop when I hear it in the alley. Footprints, light but noticeable. My hand flies to my wand in my pocket, though the gesture looks innocent to any Normal passerby. I make my breathing as quiet as possible - and then a hand grabs my arm and pulls me off the street, while another stuffs itself in my mouth so I can't scream. I gag automatically. The hands taste like chewing tobacco and dry rot. The man puts me down as soon as we're satisfactorily positioned away from the main road. He flips back his hood (terribly theatrical). Dark blonde hair like the aftermath of an oil spill. Grey eyes, dulled by time. A sharp smile. 

"Nicodemus," I spit, as much out of disgust as a desire to rid my mouth of that taste, the knowledge that he had gone to join the vampires. That he'd chosen this. That the first time I saw him, I tried to fucking off myself. I'll never be able to see him without tasting the burning forest, and beneath it, Simon's sticky scorched green smell. Even though it ended up all right, I never want to feel that low again. 

"Pitch," he replies. His tongue flicks at the holes where his eyeteeth should be, and I shudder instinctively. Phantom pain. "Haven't seen you in a right while." 

"What do you want with me?" My hands don't shake as I light the cigarette from the pocket of my coat. Not for the first time, I thank Merlin for my gift of my father's grace under pressure. Fire intimidates the other vampires, so I know he's not thrilled to see me smoking. Plus, he used to smoke, which explains the snuff I could taste on his fingers. He's too scared to have a cigarette. I blow smoke in his face just to be an asshole, and he recovers his composure, but he flinches for a second. Good. 

"I don't want anything to do with you," he sneers. "If it were up to me, I'd sneak to your house at night and drop a match in your room and watch you and your boyfriend burn alive. You let my sister die. And now I don't have anyone." I could swear his voice breaks on the last word, but his face is completely impassive. 

"And you should do the same, honestly," Nicodemus continues, kicking the wall. "That fucking idiot's not even magickal anymore; all he is is a liability. Extra weight. And you're a fucking vampire. No one would miss the two of you, and then you'd go out in a blaze of glory. Just like your mother. 'Tyger, tyger, burning bright.' How absolutely poetic. Blake, isn't it?" 

I know he's pushing my buttons on purpose, but even so I can't help but dig my fingers into my palms to distract myself. My fangs are popped now, and I enunciate clearly to avoid the lisp Snow teases me for. "What. Do. You. Want." I'm ready for anything he might try; my fingers are white-knuckled around my wand. 

"Well, you're the most powerful vampire, ain't you?" Nicodemus asks. "You've got your fangs, and you've got magic. Put two and two together, Master Pitch." He spits my name like it's a curse. Like the very sound of it burns his tongue. 

"If it's what I think, then you should know that the answer is no," I retort coolly. My heart's sluggish beat doesn't change. 

"But there's more," he breathes, sucking at those empty windows in his mouth. "The Mage was overthrown. The magickal world is still unstable. Your family could be on top again. Merlin knows they're trying to be." 

I give a short, derisive snort. "You think the fucking Pitches would accept the help of the vampires who killed their own flesh and blood?" 

"They don't have to know," Nicodemus says. "They just have to know that you're helping them, and then you'll be their hero. And then maybe your father will ring you up again, eh?" He laughs in a manner that I can only describe as a gruff cackle. My toes curl and my hackles raise; how the bloody hell did he know about my father? 

"Consider it." He melts into the shadows, and I'm too spent to follow him. I collect the pizza and begin the walk home completely expressionless. 

It's true that my father hasn't called me in... months, I suppose. I've talked to my stepmother, and I've sent cards and trinkets to my siblings, but I've barely heard from him. He's not just bothered by the queer thing (although that's not water under the bridge yet). But his son - the heir to the Grimm-Pitch name, the blending of two of the oldest and most powerful magical families - is shacking up with the evil Mage's pet. Who isn't even magickal anymore. "It's not very good for the image," Father tried to explain when we had a "man to man" conversation about it during winter break. 

_Fuck him_ , I think as I enter our flat. My hands are shaking, shaking as I push the key into the lock, as I shoulder the door open. I drop the greasy-smelling box on the counter, but my hands won't still. 

Simon sits up from where he had been slouched on the couch, and for some reason he can tell that something's wrong immediately. "Baz?" There's worry in his voice. 

I press my lips together and grip the counter. "I saw - I saw -" For some reason, I can't get the bloody words out. My breath is coming faster than normal, and there are tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. _Get it together, Basilton, for Merlin's sake._

Needless to say, that doesn't happen. I allow Simon to lead me to the couch, rubbing my back and whispering soothing things. "Baz, love, what's wrong?" He only calls me pet names when he's tired or worried. I must look a sight. 

Finally, finally, my throat clears and I'm able to gasp a breath. "I saw Nicodemus. He pulled me into an alley and told me to join the vampires. That they want me, because I'm magickal. That I could help them overthrow the world - get my family back on top. As if I'd ever fucking _join_ them. I hate them." 

"I know, shh." Simon keeps rubbing my back, and I realize I'm shaking all over now. "I know you do. Nicodemus doesn't know you, Baz. I do, and you would never. You would never." 

"I would never," I reaffirm, but I don't move from Snow's arms. _Just a few more seconds._

We pull away soon enough, but I'm still rattled. As I set out the pizza, Simon goes over to the table and flips through the mail. "Hey, Baz?" he calls, walking back to me with a cream-colored envelope, stamped with green wax, in his hand. "Is this from -" 

"Watford." I put the plates down, frowning slightly. "Here, let me see." With the touch of my fingers, the letter falls open, and Simon pretends he didn't see. He acts like not having magic doesn't bother him, but things like this bring out his jealousy. 

At the top, in curling purple script, the page reads: 

_The presence of Masters Tyrannus Basilton Pitch and Simon Oliver Snow is formally requested at_

 _the Watford School of Magicks_

 _

on **March 20, 2017**

by Headmistress Mitali Bunce.

_

Closer to the bottom and smaller, it says: 

_Your discretion when referring to this meeting is strongly advised._

"Well, that's not cryptic at all," I mutter, letting the page flutter to the countertop and running a hand through my hair. 

"Do you think..." Simon starts, tentative. "Do you think the gates will open for me?" 

For a second, I hesitate before replying, "Yes. But even if they didn't, I could open them." In all honesty, I would hope the gates still open for him - he lost his magic saving our entire existence. But I could very easily be wrong. Even if Professor Bunce did do her best to charm the wards and let Simon in, it's possible that not even she could overcome magic that old and powerful. 

He doesn't respond, just sets his jaw and taps his fingers on the Formica counter. "All right. That's in... what, three days?" 

"Yeah." 

"Great, okay." Simon inhales and shakes his head, as if to clear it. "We'll take the train, then? And a cab?" 

"That's fine." I'm holding my wand in my pocket and feeling slightly guilty. I should probably feel bad for Simon, but instead I just want to be around other mages again. (Although I'm not thrilled to go back to Watford. Fuck that place.) 

"'Your discretion when referring to this meeting is strongly advised,'" Snow quotes, picking up his slice of pizza and taking a giant bite. "Wmf djshink at meez?" 

"Honestly, Snow, I thought that after a year with me your table manners might improve," I say, mildly disgusted. He takes a plate from the stack on the table and swallows, then repeats himself. 

"What do you think that means?" 

"Crowley, I don't know. I'd guess it's not good. From what I can glean from my family, things are still in upheaval. Bunce's mother is a fine headmistress, but the Old Families still want the power." 

Simon chews loudly on his supreme pizza for a while. "Guess we'll see shortly." 

I just shrug, and I barely touch my pizza. This reeks of more than just politics. There's something else underneath - I've been feeling it in the magic for weeks now. _Nothing gold can stay,_ my mother said when referring to the World of Mages. There's been relative peace for a year. 

I don't even want to think about what it is - what it could possibly be. Because while it might not be as bad as the Humdrum, nowhere near as destructive, I can name a hundred other disasters in the past century that could wreak havoc if they happened now. We're not prepared for any of them. 

We don't have an army, and we aren't ready to fight. The World of Mages is still reeling from 18 years of having everything they needed slowly leached away. If something hit us now, something terrible... 

I'm not sure we'd make it out the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> third chapter - woohoo! this one adds agatha and penny :-) sorry it's a little later than usual!! i stayed up to bring this to you. it's a little longer as well.
> 
> as i said before, your kudos/comments/subscriptions all mean so very much to me. i'm glad you all like this silly little fic! enjoy the next chapter!

**AGATHA**

As soon as I see it, I know the letter is from Watford. I'm fanning out my mail, and between the fashion magazines and the bills and the coupons, the square cream envelope falls out and onto my floor. I yelp and jump about two feet in the air. There's no way I'm touching that thing. Not after what happened. 

I know that if I touch it, I can't run from the World of Mages anymore. I'll get sucked right back in to the petty politics and the danger, and it'll take me another 18 years to free myself. 

I don't know what would happen if I tried to cast a spell now. I haven't since that day - with Ebb and her power, and the Mage, and Simon. My last spell was to heat up my tea that afternoon. Sometimes I wake up and magic feels curled up inside me, like I'm spring-loaded. Like all I need is a piece of wood that's even vaguely magickal and I could cast a sonnet. 

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my romper. I pull it out and sigh. It's Penelope. 

That's something else, too. 

Looking back, I can't decide if I loved Simon and fell in love with Penny somewhere along the way, or if I never loved him. The feelings are all tangled up like crossed wires, and I'm not bothered enough about them to care. What I do know is that I like boys and girls, and that I like Penny. That every time I felt jealous of her friendship with Simon, it wasn't because I was worried she would steal him. It took me six months to figure out that what was missing from my life, the hollow hole in my chest, wasn't magic - it was her. 

To be honest, I try not to think about it. I employ the Simon Snow tried-and-true method; which is, of course, _ignore your feelings until they're literally impossible to ignore, and then have a huge fit_. 

_Because that worked out so well for him,_ I think wryly. 

There are reasons that I don't talk to him or Baz. Mainly, I'm embarrassed that I thought I was in love with Baz for almost an entire year. He was so painfully, obviously not into me that it makes me wince, and I didn't even have feelings for him. I just wanted to, desperately. 

Penny's text reads: "Did you get a letter fr my mum? Just received one here. Got text fr S &B that they got one. Looks weird." 

I text back: "yeah i got one. don't think im going to open it." 

Her response is so predictable I could laugh. Or cry. "Agatha. You can't run fr this forever. May be actually important." 

Fine. _Fine._ Against my better judgement, I lean down to pick up the letter. The chains on my bracelet pool on the wooden floor. As soon as I touch it, the letter falls open, with the green Watford seal stamped in wax on the back. 

_The presence of Miss Agatha Wellbelove is formally requested at_

 _the Watford School of Magicks_

 _

on **March 20, 2017**

by Headmistress Mitali Bunce.

_

Then, at the bottom: 

_Your discretion when referring to this meeting is strongly advised._

I text Penelope with the contents, and receive a near-immediate text back. "Mine is the same. Trust mum to send a formal summons instead of calling. See you there? Pls. Get connecting flight to Chicago." 

She's still in Chicago. I resist the urge to ask her, bitterly, about Micah. For a while, she told me practically everything that happened in their relationship (she doesn't have many girl friends), and I was tearing my hair out with jealousy. But she relaxed after a while, and I managed to not go completely mad. 

I still don't want to imagine them together. 

To shut down that train of thought, I text back: "ok, sure. there's a flight from lax to o'hare tomorrow @ noon - arrives at 5. sound ok?" 

Merlin, Penny is a fast typer. "Perfect. Flight from O'Hare to Heathrow leaves at 12:30 and arrives at 1. Baz said we could stay with them." 

Spending a few days with my ex-boyfriend, his boyfriend, and the girl I'm in love with is not my idea of a fun getaway. But here I am, as usual, doing what everyone expects me to. 

_No, it's not like that,_ I tell myself, twisting my hands in my new, short hair. I'm doing this for Penny. Because I can't say no to her. 

_Because I can't say no to anyone._

"Fuck," I swear under my breath, and turn around, fingers clamped tightly around the letter. I'm near to crying. 

I suppose I need to visit my parents anyway. 

*** 

**BAZ**

I can't believe I'm cleaning my flat and making up the bed for _Wellbelove._

I thought maybe I could go without seeing her perfect face for a while. It's so beautiful, it hurts to look at. Her fair, rosy skin, the dusting of freckles across just the bridge of her nose... 

She's so alive. You look at her and you can practically smell her pulse. The kind of girl they feature on winter catalogues, because the blood rushes to her cheeks and she looks gorgeous instead of cold. 

She and Simon would have been perfect together. It makes me sick to even think about them. Once I watched him kiss her, under the silvery moonlight, up on the ramparts. He held her so close, his hands tight around her waist. Like she was fragile and precious. And she had her hands tangled in his perfect hair. 

It was like a car wreck - I tried to look away, but I couldn't. Frozen in horror, I dumbly watched for what felt like hours until they finally broke apart. 

That was fifth year. I didn't stick around to hear the sweet nothings they whispered as they rested their foreheads together. Instead, I went down to the catacombs and drained four rats and slept on a grotty blanket in front of my mother's grave. Crowley, everything I did that year sounds gothic and dark, like something an orphan in a Dickens novel would do. 

_But now he loves you, so shut up, Basilton,_ I remind myself, and grit my teeth and get back to work. With a muttered _**"A place for everything, and everything in its place!"**_ , our room tidies itself, books rearranging into neat stacks and clothes flying to the hamper. I can hear Snow fiddling with the air mattress in the sitting room, occasionally cursing under his breath. It's hard to not go in and help him, but he'd probably pretend he didn't need it, and besides, it's good if he learns to do it without magic anyway. 

Eventually, I hear the sound of the mattress inflating, and figure that it's safe for me to go out now. I'm greeted by Snow sitting on the couch, panting but triumphant. 

"I slayed the mighty beast, Baz," he laughs, gesturing to the space next to him. 

"Congratulations," I deadpan, but join him. "When are Bunce and Wellbelove arriving?" 

Simon frowns and checks his watch. "Their plane arrives at 1, so probably in about two hours. Baz..." He shifts to look at me, hesitating before getting his words out. "Do you really not have any idea what's going on?" 

"Of course not. My stepmother isn't really one much for politics, and my father still hasn't talked to me since Christmas." Now it's my turn to pause before speaking. "Did you think I would _lie_ to you?" 

"No, that's not..." He looks befuddled for a second. "Well. I guess that is what I'm implying." 

"I'm on your side, love. If I knew anything, I would tell you." I hate that I'm talking like this already. Like it's a war. 

*** 

**AGATHA**

London is as gloomy as it was on the day I left. The clouds hang low and grey over the buildings, occasionally perking up from their constant drift enough to drizzle a little. The taxi Penny and I got from Heathrow is stuck in the never-ending traffic, with our driver half-heartedly leaning on the horn every so often. 

I feel carsick. I know it's not that - I haven't really been carsick since I was little - but I close my eyes and lean my head against the cool window anyway. The lights of the cars outside are diluted by the raindrops trickling down the car. 

I'm jetlagged and nervous to be back here, but having Penny here with me makes me still feel a little thrill in the pit of my stomach. Leaving the World of Mages was the best thing I ever did for myself. I thought I would have to leave her behind, too, but thankfully Penelope Bunce doesn't let friendships peter out like normal people do. She's reading a book on magickal atmosphere distribution right now, because of course she is. Of course that's something that would interest her. 

Being in a car with her is very distracting in two different ways. She smells like sage - I think it's her shampoo, her mum gets a really fancy kind - and her magic is so strong, even when it's not in use, that I can almost taste it. Maybe she's not the most powerful magician, but she's not a loose cannon, and her confidence is something that most mages wish they had. That kind of concentrated magic is powerful in itself, and Penny's feels ancient, like it could move mountains. 

I fall asleep with my forehead against the window, and Penny shakes me gently awake when we get to Simon and Baz's. Reluctantly, I get up and haul my bag out of the boot, then stand on the sidewalk and peer at their building. It's brick and not particularly exciting. 

Penny breezes by me and calls, "Well, don't just stand there! There's loads to do before tomorrow!" 

Right. Tomorrow. Watford. With a sigh, I follow her to the door. She presses the buzzer by the flat neatly marked "Snow/Pitch," then steps back, next to where her rolling suitcase is sitting. 

The speaker crackles to life. "Yes?" Baz asks, sounding vaguely robotic through the intercom. 

"It's Penny and Agatha," she replies. 

"Right. Come up, then." The door clicks open, and I trail her indoors. 

"Why didn't you just use magic to unlock the door?" I ask as we climb the stairs. 

Penny shrugs. "More polite to ask. Plus, there are plenty of Normals. The last thing we need right now is to spell anyone blank." I'm sure she'd know how to do it. The spell is just _**A new leaf and a clean slate!**_ , but it's hard to pull off. If you get the tiniest inflection wrong, or you don't focus all of your thoughts on it, you can erase someone's entire identity and basically turn them into a baby. 

When we reach their door, I get a sudden urge to run. If I don't enter, I could go to my parents' house and pretend I just wanted to see my family. I could fly back to California without using my magic at all. And I know that once I go in, everything becomes real and I get back into all the things I tried to avoid. 

But I look at Penny, with her jaw set and her determined face on, and I know I can do it. One last time. Just once. 

So I'm the one who reaches out and knocks on the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY FINISHED THE FUCKING THING!!! it's so long so hopefully that makes up for the wait. i hope you all like it. it'll probably be a really long time until the next one, but i am NOT abandoning this.
> 
> thanks for waiting ❤️

**SIMON**

I know the knock is Agatha's because it's tentative. In fact, I know because she knocked first instead of trying to open it like Penny would. 

I open the door to see her, looking like a deer in headlights, with sunny highlights in her chin-length hair. She's very tan, and there are freckles all across her nose. Behind her is Penny, whose hair is a fade from black to purple. (I think that's called ombré?) They're both carrying huge bags. 

Finally, I snap out of it and mumble, "Please come in." They do, looking around at our bare walls and IKEA furniture. I wince a little - the flat looks grotty and small now that I'm seeing it through their eyes. 

Baz materializes next to me, looking haughty as usual. He never liked Agatha, and now I can practically feel the possessiveness radiating off him. To make him feel better, I reach for his hand, and he backs off a little. "Hello, Bunce. Wellbelove." 

"Baz," Penny nods, grinning. They're better friends than either of them would admit. My stubborn, smart best friends. 

Agatha lowers her bag to the floor and stands in our sitting room. She cocks her head and gazes at the painting Baz has hung over the telly, and I find myself staring. She's still the prettiest girl I've ever met, but when I look at her now, I see someone who I don't know. Not just my girlfriend, not just my perfect destiny. Even though I didn't know myself, I short-changed Agatha, too. 

"I was thinking I could make a curry, if no one has any objections," Baz says, "and then we can talk." 

Penny shrugs. "What's there to talk about? None of us know what's going on." 

Baz had been reaching up on his toes for the pan, but he stops now and turns over his shoulder to glance at her. "Really? Your mother hasn't told you anything?" 

"Well..." She hesitates, looking unsure. "She mentioned that there were some troubles with forbidden spells. Now that the Mage is gone, they're still getting reorganized, so it's easier to do stuff like that. But apparently it's some kind of dark stuff. Of course, there's also the goblin war, too. They still want Simon dead. Could be any outstanding conflict." 

Baz lights the stove under the pan with a muttered spell, and pours some oil in. "But your mother deals with that every day. Why should this be different?" 

"Well, obviously it's related to us. Probably something to do with the battle last year. Other than that, I have no idea." 

"We'll have to stop by my house on the way to Watford," Agatha says quietly, startling us all. "I left my wand there. I haven't used it since before I left." 

The chicken meets the pan with a sizzle, all but concealing Baz's huff of frustration. "Yes, fine. But have any of you got a car?" 

"Don't you?" Penny challenges as she kicks her shoes off under her chair. 

I can see his shoulders tense and his jaw tighten. "It's at the estate." 

I'm not sure exactly what happened between Baz and his father, but he flinches whenever the old families are mentioned. I'm sure it has something to do with me, or the Mage, or him being gay. I wish I was better at stuff like that - asking him how he is. Checking in. Merlin knows he won't tell me on his own. 

"We can get an Uber, I guess, or we can charm someone into giving us theirs." 

" _Penny._ " I'm surprised by this. "That's illegal." 

"Oh, it's not so bad, Simon. Besides, we'd give it back..." 

"Still, no," I refuse flatly. "Is that what you learned in America? From Micah?" Part of me is vindictive, probing because I missed Penny like I missed my magic, something deep and needed like air. 

"Actually..." She twists the end of her braid in her fingers. "Micah and I broke up." 

"What? Crowley, Penny, I'm sorry." Now I feel guilty. 

Her glasses slip down her nose as she gives a halfhearted little shrug. "It was bound to happen. Exactly what I thought last year. All throughout winter break he acted like nothing was wrong - we went ice-skating, we walked along Lake Michigan, we had dinner at his parents' - and then the day before he went back to Yale, he took me out to dinner and said he'd met someone else, and that we probably should break up so he could ask her out." Penny's tone is matter-of-fact, because she hates scenes and a lot of emotion in general, but her voice breaks, and she turns away quickly so I can't look at her. 

Agatha has a funny look on her face, and stands up abruptly. "Do you have a toilet?" she asks, polite, and I get up to lead her down the short hall. 

"So... how's California?" I'm trying my best to make this strange situation not so awkward. What do I even say to the girl who I broke up with for a boy who she may have been in love with? 

"Um..." Agatha tucks a lock of sun-bleached hair behind her ear and nods. "It's good. I like it. Well, I like not having to use magic. And it's really good weather." 

"That's... nice, actually. Sounds good for you." We pause in front of the bathroom. The air is practically still with all the things we don't know how to say, and before I can open my mouth, she opens the door and slips away. 

**AGATHA**

_Merlin._ I wind my hands in my hair and shake it out from the roots, then sit down on the edge of the bath with a sigh. This is... a lot. 

I can't help but wonder why Penny didn't tell me about Micah at first. Something inside me swelled big as a balloon with jealous pride before I quashed it immediately. As upset as I know I should be for Penny - breakups are awful - I can't make myself feel completely sorry. 

_Stop it, Agatha,_ I reprimand myself. _You don't even know if she likes girls. You don't know anything._

But hope still blooms inside my chest like a tree in springtime, wrapping its roots around my lungs and lifting my spirits. When I look in the mirror, there's a spark in my eyes that I haven't seen since before last year. 

**BAZ**

Bunce is slumped with her head resting on her forearm, laying half across the breakfast bar. I'm not entirely sure if she's awake, so when I get a chance, I poke her with the back end of my spoon. "Hello in there?" 

Her reply is muffled and almost morose. "I don't want to do this, Baz." 

"Come again?" 

She gestures vaguely around her head, sitting up slightly. "This ordeal. With my mother, and the... the _mystery_ of this... I spent the past three months in Chicago. There's none of this there. Their system for dealing with magickal problems is much, much more efficient. Power struggles are almost a thing of the past." 

Stirring the bubbling orange curry, I'm silent. All my life, I've been on the winning side of those struggles. Not that I'm ignorant to them; I understand them just fine. They've never affected me in the way that Penny is referencing. 

"Well." She sits up now, rubs her face with that matter-of-fact look. "I don't suppose we have much of a choice." 

"I don't suppose we do," I mutter quietly. And I think of Simon, standing over the Mage's body, magic pouring off of him like waves of thick, hot blood. Pushing all that power into his reverse image. The hole in the universe inverting and sucking shut. 

No one will know power like that again. No one _should._ The last time it happened, the world almost ended. So why is everyone trying to repeat it? 

*** 

Bunce and Wellbelove end up going to sleep right after dinner, claiming jetlag and wanting to be rested for tomorrow. Simon follows soon after, and though I climb into our bed and lie still for what seems like hours, I don't drift off. At around 3 I give up and pad quietly into the kitchen to reheat some frozen blood, then pour it into a glass to drink it at the little table. 

A pair of arms wrap around my neck, and breath tickles the hair by my ear. "That smells foul," Simon admonishes, barely above a whisper. 

I tilt my head up and back against his shoulder. Because I'm weak. "I have to eat, and I'd rather not dine on our neighbor's cat. That might be suspicious." 

"You thrive on suspicious." His lips trail my neck lightly, so lightly. I'm shivering. "You're a bloody _vampire._ You've got the hair and everything. It's like you try." 

"Come off it, Snow," I laugh softly, and kiss him. "You know I'm just like this." 

"Yeah." His voice is full of emotion that I can't quite place, and when I look at his eyes, they're shining. Simon clears his throat and turns his head. "I love you, Baz." He says it rather seriously. 

"And I you, Simon." My response is equally solemn. 

"Come back to bed." 

I relent. I go. 

**AGATHA**

My face is burning with embarrassment. I was awake the whole time as Simon and Baz talked. 

For some reason, I feel like I've seen something I shouldn't have. That level of intimacy between two people feels private and uncomfortable to witness. 

I look over at Penny. She's sleeping on the air mattress next to me, hair incredibly tangled, arm shoved behind her head in a strange configuration that can't be comfortable. The light from over the oven, in the kitchen, weakly shines on her face, illuminating her dark eyelashes and full lips. 

I'm not Edward Cullen, so I stop watching her sleep. But I desperately want to get closer to her, take her hand, hold her. Have whatever it is Simon and Baz found. 

Well. If I never had it with either of them, never mind how badly I wished it, at least they've found it with each other. And maybe I can find it with someone else. 

*** 

We rent a car instead of "borrowing" one like Penny suggested. As soon as we make our way out of the tangle of London traffic, cutting into the suburbs and then the green countryside, my chest loosens. The thick smog inside my head clears, and I can feel the magic sparkling at my fingertips. 

Baz is driving with his hands very precisely at 10 and 2, and Penny and Simon are sleeping in the backseat. I try to drift off, but the nervous energy humming like an engine in my chest drives me insane. So I tap my fingers lightly along the seam of my jeans. 

Baz's hands slam on the steering wheel. "For Merlin's sake, Wellbelove, you'd think you have pixies in your pants." He gives me an icy, impervious look. I can see why people wither under his gaze. 

Instead, I sit up tall. "You could just ask me politely to stop instead of being rude, you know. It won't cost you anything." 

"It'll cost me my reputation," he mutters under his breath, but he slumps back a little and flicks on the radio. "You're going to have to direct me to your house. I've no idea where to go." 

Over the soft sounds of some indie band, I lead him through the winding streets of my neighborhood until we pull into my driveway. Baz laughs a little under his breath. 

"What?" I turn, exasperated. 

"Nothing. Just, aren't Normal doctors supposed to be rich?" 

"This is a big house _for normal people._ We can't all have family estates across half of fucking England, you twat." Fuming, I get out and I slam the door and stomp up to my parents' door. I can hear Penny and Simon waking up behind me, and Baz saying something in an incredulous tone, but I don't even care. This is why I wanted to fucking _leave._

My mum opens the door, and she looks absolutely terrified for a second before relief takes over and she pulls me into a hug. "Darling! We missed you. Why didn't you _tell_ me you were coming? I haven't any food in the house -" She fusses a little more, and I let her. I'll admit that I missed this. 

"Mum, I'm sorry for not telling you, it was all really sudden, but I'm with Penny... and Simon and Baz..." I pause to gauge her reaction, then continue. "We got summoned to Watford. I just stopped by to get - some stuff from my room." 

The others have gathered in our doorway and are waving awkwardly at my mum. She nods at the boys and hugs Penny, who stands there stiffly. Her hair is thick and crazy this morning, like a halo around her face. 

While they drink my mum's god-awful rose hip tea and eat butter biscuits, I head back to my room and paw through my underwear drawer. At the very back, hidden in a tampon box so no one would check, is my wand. Slowly, I pull it out - and I'm nearly blasted onto my bed. The touch of magic to my fingers is like an electric shock. I can't say I'm glad to feel it, but it's a relief, like going to sleep after a long, full day. 

As soon as I arrive in the sitting room, Simon practically jumps out of his chair. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks, a little too eager. I nod cautiously, and he pulls on his hat and gloves. "Good. Thanks, Mrs. Wellbelove." He kisses my mum's cheek, still so polite, and practically tugs the rest of us out of my house after I promise to come back before I leave. She's left waving speechlessly from our porch, looking like a tornado hit her. 

Simon sits in the front seat this time, relegating me to the back, and he's nervous and pissy, frown brewing on the edges of his mouth. A split second after, Baz drops into the driver's seat and cranks the car to life. 

"Nicks and Slick, Simon, what is this about?" Penny asks, irritated, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I think they're new; the frames are clear. 

"Not everything is about something!" Simon snaps. I don't think anyone else notices Baz digging his fingers into the wheel like he's trying to strangle it. 

She opens her mouth like she's about to respond, but then sits back, chewing on her lip. I'm surprised. A year ago she'd be bothering Simon like no tomorrow. 

When he gets no response, Baz peels out of my driveway bat-out-of-hell style and starts tearing down the roads towards the motorway. I can hear him muttering under his breath, spells like _**"Move along!"**_ Wastes of magic. He's angry, and the magic is rolling off him in hot waves. It's almost uncomfortable. The car starts to smell faintly of charcoal. 

Simon is slumped down in the seat, his jaw set hard like a pouting child. I would have let this get to me, would have hemmed and hawed and fretted until someone exploded. But I'm done with that now. Instead, I shove my earbuds in and click play. And then I close my eyes, try to pretend that none of this is happening. 

**BAZ**

Fuck Wellbelove. Fuck her utter beauty that makes people do her fucking bidding, fuck how she still has an effect on Snow, _fuck her reluctance to get off her perfect arse and do something._ I hate her. I hate her idiotic family. I hate _everything_ right now. We're practically flying down the motorway. The car's wheels are slippery with magic. I know that I'm in control, but if this were a movie, we'd go careening into the divide, a ball of fire would erupt, and we'd all die. The end. Credits roll. 

Snow is stewing next to me. Merlin if I know what he's worked up about, but it's making me nervous and jumped up. I'm spitting out **"Make way for the king!"** and **"Move along!"** s just to pass the time and get us to Watford faster. 

Gradually, the suburbs melt away into countryside. Wellbelove is looking out the window with her earbuds jammed in deep, and Bunce is passed out, asleep as the dead. Fields flit by the window, warped by the rain that's starting to fall. I ease up on the magic - there's not so many cars out here. 

Snow clears his throat. "Baz. I'm sorry." 

"For what?" I mutter. It comes out pinched and short. 

"I don't know." He shifts, chews his lip. "Causing a scene." 

I'm not sure how to respond, so I stay quiet. The best way to get Simon to talk is just to let him go. 

"I just - I hate going back to the Wellbeloves'. I just think of how I treated Agatha like complete shit, honestly, and how her whole family treated me like a son -" He cuts himself off and looks away towards the small town visible over the crests of grey hill. "Well. It reminds me of the Mage, is all." 

My skin crawls at the mention of him. "I suppose I understand." I don't, and Simon knows it. My father may be distant and vaguely emotionally repressed, but he's still there. And also not a maniac. 

Snow goes quiet, keeps biting his lip in a way that makes his chin jut out. After a few minutes' silence, he punches the "play" button, and the car fills with Simon & Garfunkel. Over the light, cascading guitars, I turn off the motorway and head onto the exit that will lead us to Watford. 

**AGATHA**

I can feel the magic in the air as we get closer, winding down the lanes, over the wild moor that's covered with mist. It feels like a freshly laundered, still-warm duvet - except I'm already overheated. Suffocating. Close. 

My wand is buzzing in my pocket, begging me to pick it up. But I don't want to. 

I wonder if a mage has ever managed to reject their abilities. Again, I think of Lucy. Did her powers fade when she ran away? Did she even leave her wand? Or did she find some community of mages in America? 

All this activity is making my head hurt, again, pounding that's making my throat thick and my stomach lurch. "Can we pull over?" I ask, yanking the headphones out of my ears. 

"We're almost there," Simon murmurs, his voice a little raspy and low from sleep - I must have woken him up. And it's true; the car is trundling slowly towards the driveway, towards the place where all the Normals speed by or turn back. I can see the gate. There's panic rising in my chest. As soon as the car stops, I unbuckle my seatbelt and fly out, barely making it to throw up on the side of the road instead of inside the rental. 

When I'm done, I sit back on my heels and wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. I don't even notice that Penny's behind me until I feel her hand on my back. She pats me a few times (awkwardly, it's not really her forte, but it still sends a tingle up my spine) and waves her ring over the sick, says _**"Take it away!"**_ under her breath. It disappears. "Are you all right?" she asks quietly. I give a shaky nod and stand up. Penny holds her ring over my mouth, and before I can do anything other than be surprised, she says _**"Minty fresh!"**_ and the disgusting taste in my mouth is gone. All I can manage is a grateful smile. 

The boys are standing by the car when we walk back up. Well, actually, Baz is leaning on it, because he can't do anything without looking like he walked off the menswear spread of _Vogue Italia._ Simon is taking shuffling, hoppy steps, puffing out cold breaths of air above the blue knobbly scarf tied around his neck, but he looks up, and without a sound, we all approach the gate. 

_"Magic separates us from the world; let nothing separate us from each other."_

_Magic separates us from the world._ A six-hundred-year-old gate understands the problem with magic better than my parents, or anyone blessed with it, could. 

Even as Baz pulls off his glove and closes his bare, pale hand over the iron gate, even as it swings forward to allow us into this community meant for only those who speak with magic, I've never felt more alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yeah, you can yell at me [on tumblr](http://weareparamore.co.vu) too


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